


Orb Hell AU

by Thatsjustprime



Category: DCU (Comics)
Genre: Body Horror, Established Bruce Wayne/J'onn J'onzz, He's got no mouth but he must Scream, J'onn J'onzz's Very Bad No Good Day, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-17
Updated: 2020-02-17
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:08:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22763734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thatsjustprime/pseuds/Thatsjustprime
Summary: He is screaming. and he cannot be heard. He is an exposed nerve, vulnerable, frightened. He cannot move. He cannot reach his mind out. It’s a living nightmare. All he can do is sit and wait, in the dark, listening. His form is locked, and his telepathy.. all but gone. He can feel around him, and hear, but he cannot see, or speak. He is helpless, he is alone, and he is so wholly terrified that he will be like this until he dies.tl;dr: J’onn is an orb and nobody has a good time. Incomplete.
Relationships: J'onn J'onzz/Bruce Wayne
Comments: 2
Kudos: 15





	Orb Hell AU

**Author's Note:**

> J’onn J’onzz/Bruce Wayne, established relationship, Angst. about 2000 words. Unfinished and Unbeta'd, probably gonna be unfinished for the rest of time like all of my other works... Oh, this is set around the 97' JLA. Mild warning for Body horror stuff. Tell me what you think!!!!!

He is screaming. and he cannot be heard. He is an exposed nerve, vulnerable, frightened. He cannot move. He cannot reach his mind out. It’s a living nightmare. All he can do is sit and wait, in the dark, listening. His form is locked, and his telepathy.. all but gone. He can feel around him, and hear, but he cannot see, or speak. He is helpless, he is alone, and he is so wholly terrified that he will be like this until he dies.

Time is very difficult to measure. He doesn’t know how long it is until someone notices him, but he can hear it, hear everything. Perhaps in some ways that makes it worse. Being _aware._ He can feel, too, what little sensation of touch his current form provides.

Oh, this body. This form of his. He is perfectly round. A sphere, smooth and featureless, but besides that.. he does not know any other details. His size is unknowable. His location, uncertain, though his best guess is back in the watchtower, either in his quarters or in the lab. His soul, yelling into an abyss, a void that cannot hear him, shakes with panic. The horror has set in, and he is alone.

The thing that did this to him… It was supposed to be an ancient artifact. Something lost to his people by time. A piece of home, of history. It was supposed to be harmless. Not a _weapon._ Not a device that made his own body his _prison._ Not.. a tool for such an evil act. Locking a martian in one form was cruel enough on it’s own…but making them so helpless, with no real way to move.. or _communicate.._ it was worse than an execution. To be dead would be a release. This.. was pure cruelty. No sin could outweigh such a horrible fate.

Time passes, and as it does, his panic fades to a constant white noise at the back of his mind. He can’t do much, but he can listen. And if there is one thing J’onn J’onzz can do.. It’s _wait._

Not much happens around J’onn, at first. But he focuses—and even though the audial range in this form is lower than his natural senses, he can still hear to just about..outside his door. Judging by the sounds of footprints and chatter, and the familiar noise of his clock ticking away, he’s certain he’s in his quarters. Perhaps.. if he focuses enough, he can tell the time. He listens to the ticking, enjoying the sound of it. It’s calming.

Two hours and twelve minutes later, his alarm goes off. He can’t deactivate it and is stuck listening to the irritating beeping for the foreseeable future.

Ten hours after that happens, the beeping finally stops. J’onn has passed the time by composing limericks nearly as irritating as the alarm’s beeping itself.

_There once was a martian named J’onn.  
_ _Who’s planet was all but gone.  
_ _He found a device,_  
_He thought it was nice,  
_ _But boy, was that Martian wrong._

It’s going to be a very funny story to tell, if he ever is found, And recognized. For all he knows, he could simply be invisible, undetectable. He can feel the breeze of his air-conditioning, always set to sixty degrees when he’s alone, and sixty-eight when he has company, so it’s possible he’s not entirely intangible, but there is.. literally no way to tell without something, or someone, bumping into him. He is quite literally at the mercy of his gods. That or something much, much worse: _fate_.

If this is a trial, J’onn’s not sure he’s going to make it.

Another three hours passes, and J’onn starts remembering old Maritan songs and translating them to English. This is somewhat difficult, and even the dirty ones he learned from sneaking out with Ma’al to meet the old, retired Manhunters are lost in translations.

Another..fifteen minutes, approximately, and J’onn starts thinking about Bruce. He’s been avoiding thinking about Bruce, mostly because he knows he wants to see him more than ever, wants Bruce to be here, to make things better, to comfort him—in some way. And there’s no way of knowing if Bruce will ever know what is happening to him.

He liked it better when he was bored out of his mind rather than depressed. Even the panic at the back of his mind is better than deep, hopeless sorrow and _endless_ yearning. He reaches out with his mind, telepathy contained and _cut off_ as it has been, all day, and grasps blindly for Bruce’s comfort, for his voice, his hands. There’s no response, of course. He expects no less.

It does not stop the deep pit of loneliness rapidly forming in his soul. No telepathy with Bruce.. He cannot remember the last long stretch of time he’s had with absolutely _no_ telepathic communication between he and his husband. Four days.. it was the longest they’ve gone with minimal communication in years, and it had been miserable for the both of them.

He is _exhausted_. There is no physical reaction to his mind needing rest. No eyes to close, no body to relax. His mind remains as active as ever, despite his attempts to meditate. He counts sheep, gets up to ten thousand. He sings to himself, in his head, but only ever ends up remembering entirety of Bonnie Tyler’s _I Need A Hero_ _._ He repeats it thirteen times. For some reason, all other songs escape him.

Sometimes, J’onn hates his own mind more than anything.

Finally, blessedly, oblivion comes; but not for as long as he hopes. His mind shuts down, and when he’s back, alert, he’s not sure how much time has passed..but it can’t be much. He is groggy, mind still fuzzy as it comes back into focus. Sleep changes nothing, and he’s displeased to wake up to the same nightmare he fell asleep to.

It’s going to be another long day.

Meanwhile……… I can’t write transitions for shit but smash motherfucking CUT.

A day without contact from J’onn. Uncommon, but not entirely emergency worthy. Bruce frowns as he stares down at his phone, flicking another text towards the Martian before he turns back to focus on the case before him. Something isn’t sitting quite right in his gut, but there’s _no_ sign of an emergency. A gloved fist curls on the armrest of the chair in front of the Batcomputer, before he stands.

..A quick call couldn’t hurt.

Bruce tries J’onn’s phone three times, letting it go to voicemail. He frowns down at own phone again, putting it down. He’s _probably_ just busy.

~!~!~ another transition bumper here. Fuck

Back on the Watchtower, Clark frowns. J’onn is late to his watch shift, and J’onn is _never_ late. Not without warning. It’s been twenty minutes and the Martian is nowhere to be seen, and he’s not picking up on his comm. unit, either. Wally called in on his comm, irate, five minutes after his shift’s ended to complain about the absentee Martian. Clark can’t reach him on his comm, but there’s no sign that J’onn left the ‘tower—At least, not any logged on the teleporter. It’s entirely possible he went for a flight somewhere, but Clark’s got his doubts.

J’onn is a lot of things, but he’s mainly the most workaholic person Clark’s ever met. Save for _Bruce._ Sometimes, the Kryptonian wonders if those two are really all that good for each-other’s work habits.

The stray thought lingers in the Kryptonian’s mind, as he scans the Watchtower for any sign of J’onn. Not seeing any, he goes to J’onn’s quarters, knocking on them a few times. There’s no response.

In the meanwhile, Black Canary’s been assigned for a temporary watch shift, relieving Flash of his duty. This really isn’t sitting well with the Superman, who taps his foot a few times before caving and calling Bruce.

“Batman.” The vigilante answers, clipped as ever. “What do you need.”

“It’s Clark. I was wondering if you’ve seen J’onn today. He’s not here for his watch shift.”

“No. He’s not down in Gotham. I assumed he was busy.” Clark can hear Bruce’s cape rustling over the comm as he stands. “..I’m coming up.”

Clark bites his lip. “I’m at his quarters right now. I’ve been knocking and he’s not answering.”

“Scan it.” The reply is curt, and it’s obvious by the sound on the other side of the line that Bruce is heading towards the teleporter in the Cave.

“He’s not—hang on. Organic mass, in the corner of his room. Up to my knee. It’s a..sphere?”

“Get _in_ there, Clark.”

Clark doesn’t have to be told twice. The code to J’onn’s room is practically memorized by heart, and he punches it in and is inside the second he is able to squeeze through the doors. He stands in front of the ball, staring.

It’s green, the same shade of J’onn, and has a red X across the front.

“..J’onn?” There’s no response. Clark’s standing in front of the ball, and he kneels down, putting a hand on it as he uses his vision to examine it on a microscopic level. Martian cells. It’s _J’onn_. Clark lets in a sharp breath.

“ _Clark._ ” Bruce growls. The teleporter is activating.

“He’s–You better get up here, Bruce.” Clark can hear the teleporter go off on the other side of the line, and he can hear Bruce take off the second his boot touches down in the Watchtower. He stands, doors to J’onn’s quarters still open, as Bruce runs at a breakneck speed towards the both of them.

In the meanwhile, Clark is doing everything he can. Tapping J’onn with a hand, talking to him, shaking him slightly—nothing’s working. The martian is _completely_ dormant. In..some sort of stasis. He’s completely unresponsive, and without another telepath aboard, there’s no way to tell if he’s actually even _conscious_.

It’s strange. J’onn’s surface in this form is smooth, hard, but matte, like an eggshell. Clark doesn’t have much time to dwell, because Bruce is by the door now, coming inside and slamming it shut behind him.

~woosh. Transition time naughty children~

J’onn has never been so grateful to hear someone knocking at his door. He can hear Clark, muffled on the other end, talking to—talking to someone, though if he had to guess, it would be _Bruce._ Gods above, he might make it through this after all.

He knows telepathic connection is hopeless, especially with Clark, but the Martian can’t help but reach out anyways and try to connect with him. Each attempt is met with a proverbial brick wall, even when he forces his mind out with all of his might.

 _Clark_ , he calls out. _Clark!_ No answer. He isn’t expecting one. J’onn can hear the door to his quarters slide open, and he thanks every one of his Gods, one by one, for the small blessing of his friend’s company. He’s in good hands, now.

Even when Clark comes over, his mind sings with joy, and a slight desperation to connect with him, to show him he’s aware—somehow. His form is still locked, but he can _feel_ the Kryptonian’s hand on him when it touches him. When J’onn hears Bruce’s name, his heart swells, worry and fear and a whole mess of gratitude swirling within him.

He’s coming. His husband is coming.

J’onn desperately wishes he could grow eyes and _look_ at his Bruce as the door slams shut behind him. One, two, three paces and Bruce is by his side.

_Bruce!_

~~

“J’onn said something about an artifact, right? Something he found back on Mars..?”

Clark rubbed his forehead, frowning at the table as they stood around, J’onn perfectly positioned in the center. Clark had the decency to set up a makeshift..nest of sorts for the Martian, mostly so he wouldn’t roll off, but also because sitting around on a table was probably…uncomfortable, even as a sphere. They had moved to the meeting room, mostly to discuss _what_ they would do with J’onn now that they found him. 

Bruce was pacing, mind obviously racing at about a thousand miles per second. He stopped, turning to face the table.

“..I want him down with me at the cave.”


End file.
